A Day at the Lake
by TheRamblingDabbler
Summary: The Title pretty much explains the gist of it. just a case that they solve at a lake. Oh and there is lots of Johnlock agnsty sort of stuff throughout. Hostage situation where John and Sherlock are both hostages. Finished. May get revised though. Ending has Johnlock, just saying. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**A Day at the Lake**

**Chapter 1**  
"SHERLOCK! HE'S HEADED YOUR WAY!" John bellowed, his feet pounding into the grass and mud that ringed the foggy lake. His eyes were locked on the dark green coat of their suspect. His breathing was even and paced, his army instincts from afghanistan kicking in subconsciously. Sherlock on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen. He was supposed to be hiding around the edge of the bridge to intercept the suspect.  
The change in lighting as John ran under the bridge after the man made him have to blink a few times. He quite clearly saw their runner stop completely and peek up at the side of the bridge and smile. John was still running but it was a slow jog now. Any moment now Sherlock would jump the man and they would have this case all wrapped up in no time.  
But that moment never came, because Sherlock wasn't where he was supposed to be. John's brain kicked into high gear automatically, a side effect of being around the famous sleuth for an extended period of time. Logic battled with his emotions as he tried to decipher what he should do next.  
Logic told him that Sherlock was in danger. The runner had looked up at the edge and smiled, meaning that it wasn't just Sherlock up there. So, there was another suspect. Emotions told him that he should make sure that Sherlock is okay. Logic also told him that this had been planned. This wasn't just a coincidence that the runner knew that there would be someone there. His emotions said that he should _really _make sure that Sherlock was okay, not dead. The last thing that logic told him was that this was a trap, and that it would be very dangerous.  
But logic couldn't understand the fact that John knew Sherlock would be up there, possibly going to be hurt, and that John would jump into any sort of dangerous situation for that man- no questions asked.  
These things all ran through his head faster than even he thought possible and he stepped out from under the bridge. He looked up in a similar fashion to the runner even though he already knew what he would see.  
John's eyes quickly found Sherlock's and Sherlock gave him a lopsided grin of apology. John shrugged a little as if to say _it's all right. You know that I love and hate these types of situations anyways. _  
John knew that the man he had been chasing was now turning back and closing the distance in between them. John was momentarily puzzled, the man didn't really think that he could take John on did he? Then John saw what he hadn't saw the first time: the 9mm that was resting in the divot of Sherlock's temple.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

John's breath caught in his throat for a second and then he got ahold of himself. His exterior was calm and collected but on the inside he was scared shitless. His mind was still in high performance mode, and it made it seem like life was slowing down. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, preparing him for any motion needed.  
His eyes scanned the man pointing the gun at his best friend and right off the bat he noticed something crucial; this man was almost identical to their runner, meaning that they had to be brothers. He squinted, trying to make out anymore details when the man spoke,  
"You can stop right there, Doctor Watson." his voice was calm but had an undertone of annoyance. John hadn't even realized he had moved. Apparently he had walked forward a foot or two subconsciously during his scrutinization of the gunman. He made a conscious effort to stand still as he refocused his attention on the gun pointed at Sherlock.  
John notes that Sherlock is oddly quiet, usually he'd be chatting up the gunman, finding out everything he could to get out of the situation. John frowns at Sherlock as the runner comes up behind him and takes John's gun. Sherlock looks almost sad for a second and John just stares at him, vaguely aware that one of the suspects is talking to them. When the words reach his ears he snaps out of his trance, still puzzled by Sherlock's silence.  
"Sherlock, you and your friend are getting to be a bit too much of a pain in the arse for us, hounding us at every turn for the past few days. It's gotten rather annoying to me and my brother, hasn't it brother dear? Quite honestly, I'm not one for clever tricks but I have to admit I had a little help." Sherlock just looks at the man with wide eyes and a furrowing brow.  
"So, you won't just kill John and I because that would be too simple." Sherlock states in a conversational tone.  
"Oh, No! No, no. I can't just kill you. Then the police would be out looking for me." He smiled serenely. "No, I am going to make you learn a lesson, and crush your world," he said sweetly.  
"Oh?" Sherlock's eyebrows reaching for his curly black hair. His eyes silently encouraged the gunman to go on.  
"Brother, shoot Doctor Watson in the foot."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

What color that was left in Sherlock's face, drained immediately and his eyes hardened. The gunman's face lit with a eerie smile. Sherlock's jaw locked he looked at John, trying to think of what to do.

John drew in a deep breath as the hammer clicked back on the gun and he gazed into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock opened his mouth to say something and his eyes could not veil the distress and fear he felt. It was debilitating, and Sherlock had never had this sort of problem before. He couldn't function, and that scared him.

John did something that had never done before, he simply gave up. He smiled a little sad smile and closed his eyes, trying to mentally prepare himself for the wound. He knew that these men were ready and able to shoot either of them on the spot, and he would rather that he die than Sherlock, so he composed himself and gave up.

To John and Sherlock it felt like forever and yet like no time at all before the loud BANG of the gun firing echoed in their heads. John squished his eyes closed even tighter, trying his hardest to mentally abate the pain that he was sure would race up his leg any second. But it didn't, it never did. His eyes snapped open to see what was going on. Shouts flew past him and he tried to piece together what had occurred.

"Brother! Shoot him! JUST SHOOT HIM IN THE HEAD AND BE OVER WITH IT!" The eldest brother yelled. John focused on the bridge, and his breathing rate escalated when he saw that Sherlock and the gunman were engaged in a power struggle over the weapon. His mind finally comprehended what the man had said.

Cold gun metal found its way to John's temple and rested there while the brother tried to compose himself. John looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

"You've never shot anyone before." John stated while yells beat the air around him. He didn't let them distract him. "It changes everything. Really think about it. Do you really want to be responsible for my death?" He paused, mentally flinching as he heard Sherlock getting beat. "Would you be able to live with that?" John's voice had lowered to a whisper, and the gun pressed into the side of his head began to wobble uncertainly. The brother sniffed loudly and John realized that he was crying.

CRACK! John whipped his head around to look up to the bridge. Sherlock was falling, slumping against the side of the bridge. His eyes were wide with shock and there was small amount of blood seeping from his he disappeared from John's sight behind the concrete wall of the bridge. The older brother stood looking down, not at John, but the runner; He looked at him with a face full of disgust.

"If you won't shoot'em, I will." He spat and leveled his gun with John's head.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Sherlock was doubled up in shock, nursing his possible concussion. John was unsure of what to do and no time to do it. The bullet left the barrel and flew straight and true. John was knocked off his feet by the impact, and Sherlock could hear John crash into the water.  
The sound of the gun going off seemed to reverberate in the air and Sherlock's heart stopped. His lungs didn't want to work, the air wouldn't go in, and his eyes widened in complete and utter loss, clouded over with guilt.  
When his eyes focused again, they did so on the gun which hung loosely in the elder brother's grip. The gun that had just- he cut off the thought and scrambled to his feet. He yanked the gun from the man's grasp and stood up stiff with emotion. The gunman noticed the change in Sherlock's demeanor and immediately changed his tune. He began to smile innocently and back away slowly.  
Sherlock reached out and snagged the front of his captor's shirt, using it to pull him backwards towards the middle of the bridge. He threw the gun into the middle of the street for the time being. Sherlock focused all his angry energy on the suspect, daring him to try anything with his eyes. Sherlock suddenly lets go of the man's shirt and pushes him up against the concrete wall of the bridge. He isn't aware that this man is talking to him, much less begging him to stop. He steps back a full step and looks at the brother disdainfully and then puts all his feelings behind one good punch that has that satisfying CRACK of a fist slamming into a skull.  
The suspect toppled over the side of the bridge and Sherlock just watched him fall, leaning over the edge to watch the last bit.  
Somehow, Sherlock managed to keep it together for another few moments while he collected his gun, and buttoned up his coat. Then his world went to heck. John was all that went through his head, and Sherlock sprinted down the bridge and skidded around the corner. He ran down to the waters' edge to try and see where his partner had gone. It wasn't all that hard of a deduction, there was a pool of blood where John had been standing, and it covered the stones leading into the water. That's when Sherlock noticed the water. It was red, and it made a path showing him exactly where his army doctor was.  
Tears finally ran down Sherlock's face, followed by racking sobs.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

John stared at the bottom of the bridge, wondering why the world was so muted and nothing seemed to hurt. He had been shot, that much he was sure of. There was blood everywhere, Jesus, he was seeing Afghanistan again. Too many lives lost there, too much blood on his hands, again.  
His ears were ringing; people were yelling above him, He wondered what they were yelling about. He was just lying there staring up at the bridge and the sky, wondering about trivial things. Then something smacked into the water next to him and snapped him out of his trance.  
And that's right about the time when John realized that he was fully submerged under only four feet of water, being held down by some weight mass lying over the top of him. He began to struggle, trying to get out from underneath whatever it was that was holding him down, but he had already let go of all of his breath during his trance.  
His mind growing duller, he cursed himself for being so stupid and finally had to take a breath. He got halfway through his breath when all of a sudden; he is being pulled up and out of the water by a man in a long wool coat. His oxygen deprived mind could not make any connections on who this might be.  
His lungs were half full of water and his body was inches away from death. He only know that the man saved his life when he decided to carry John by throwing him over his back like a bag of potatoes; all the water that John had sucked in the moment before were now being ungraciously returned to the lake.  
Soon after John got a decent amount of oxygen into his lungs, he lost consciousness with the assurance that he would be safe. The last thing he felt before completely passing out was that man setting him down extremely gently and closing his eyes for him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**  
Sherlock sat on the shore of the lake for a long time just staring into the red water. After a while, it dissipated and Sherlock had to find something new to look at. He stared up at the bridge, until he remembers that that would have been the last thing John had seen before he died. He examined the gravel until he was sure that it yielded no clues for him.  
Sherlock was scared to look at the dead John. He knew now that he couldn't function without him, now he was gone. That was what scared Sherlock; The fact that John had known that Sherlock needed him but had let Sherlock come to his own conclusion. He didn't know what to do.  
The one thing he knew for sure was that Lestrade would be here soon, or some other police people and an ambulance. He hadn't called them, a stray biker had though. He had tried to stay with Sherlock, sitting under the bridge, but he hadn't let him. Sherlock scared him away, and now he was all alone with the body of his best friend and partner. He should have let the stupid man stay.  
Unfortunately for Sherlock, there was something wrong with this picture. Something big, something obvious that he was missing. And he was terrified because he couldn't even function enough to see the obvious.  
His own words echoed back to him from an old, old case. "Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side..." He scoffed at his words now. He hadn't known how much John mattered to him then, and he certainly didn't know how much he mattered to John then.  
Sherlock finally brought himself to look at his dead friend and he whispered over the lump in his throat.  
"John,-"He was cut off.  
"SHERLOCK!" John yelled, his eyes flying open, a look of utter terror defining them. "Jesus, Sherlock! I thought I was dead!" He gasped for air like he'd never had any ever before. Sherlock's eyes glazed over with denial and he leaned back in shock.  
"John?" Sherlock whispered a look of fear in his eyes. John saw his fear and quickly says,  
"I'm real Sherlock, I'm alive. You're not seeing things." Sherlock just stares at John and his eyebrows push together thoughtfully.  
"Are you sure?" Sherlock asks, needing him to say yes and fearing that he will say no. John reaches out and pulls Sherlock into a sideways hug and whispers.  
"Do you want this to be real?"  
"Yes." Sherlock's voice is unsteady and he hugs John back even tighter.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**  
"You, need to get out of those wet clothes, you're going to get hypothermia." Sherlock frets, starting to unzip John's water sodden coat.  
"I can get it myself you know." John says quietly, more than a little amused. He can't seem to wipe the grin off of his face. Sherlock doesn't let him though, and John is glad. He doesn't want Sherlock to see how much his hands are shaking.  
"There." Sherlock says with a flourish, wringing out John's jacket and laying it on the stones to begin drying out. John shivers involuntarily and tries to hide it from Sherlock but fails miserably.  
"Here. Come here, I'll make sure you're warm." Sherlock says in a demanding tone. John sighs in defeat and scoots from his patch of grass to Sherlock's. Sherlock smiles and pulls off John's sweater and then his t-shirt until he has nothing left on besides his pants, jeans, and his boots. John is getting really red in the face and Sherlock simply says,  
"There is no one around to see, and even if there were, I wouldn't care." Sherlock takes one arm out of his coat and gives one side to John. They have to coordinate to get the buttons buttoned up but eventually they get there and they lay back in the grass, sharing body heat and a coat.  
"So, how did you manage to not get shot?" Sherlock mused. "Because there were no gunshot wounds anywhere but your coat was absolutely soaked in blood."  
"Well, here's the tricky part. I'm not entirely sure myself, all I know is that I truly believed that I had been shot, and I had a flashback- to the war." John paused, nervously licking his lips. "I think that that kid jumped in front of the bullet for me. Why? I have no idea." John quietly contemplated this relavation when suddenly Sherlock kissed the top of John's head an murmured,  
"It's all gone and done now, let's forget about it for a while." John could feel the heat building in his cheeks again. "For now, let's go home. Lestrade should be here any minute to take us back to London."  
"Yes, home, 221b Baker St." John said softly, closing his eyes and laying his head back in the grass.


End file.
